At dusk, within a suite in the downtown hotel, Park Sangnam finished his bath, changed his clothes, and took a long time to tidy his teeth before finally sitting at the desk with a spirited face, dialing a video call.
Soon, a blond-haired, blue-eyed gentleman appeared on the screen. He glanced casually at Park Sangnam to recognize him before continuing to focus on another screen, attending to his matters.
This man was clearly a fellow countryman of Irina, but it was hard to find the same positive and upward-looking temperament on his face or body. Yet, he wasn't morbidly listless either.
If anything, his eyes bore the sharpness and murderous intent of a soldier, but his expression was filled with the melancholy and nihilism typical of a writer—this inherent contradiction caused an involuntary pause in whoever saw him, forcing even the most arrogant to take a moment to adjust, including Park Sangnam who often met with him.
